


Bonfire Cider

by Kyla_Wren



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: DrummerWolf, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyla_Wren/pseuds/Kyla_Wren
Summary: A little snapshot of an evening on the road, with pleasant times and some gentle pining between our favorite witchakookoo and psychic-energy vampire.





	Bonfire Cider

The radio in the Oh No Van always played the right music. It changed to fit the mood of the Rowdy 3, becoming faster and louder when their energy was up and things were about to get smashed. When the highway lights slid by in the night and most were dozing in the back it became quiet and soothing, a pulse that barely registered. Amanda never saw anyone touch the dial, so she figured it was another one of those weird universe things that clung to the Rowdies like fog.

At the moment it was dusk, the sky reduced to purple and the music a pleasant drone that matched their cruising pace through thinning civilization. Vogel, Cross, and Gripps were lying down, tired after a day wandering in the sun and some late-afternoon scrapping with unfriendly locals. Amanda looked back at them and saw a collection of tired pups. They were heading East, towards a campground that they planned to use for the week.

Amanda’s hand dangled out the window, catching the wind and making loops and waves. She was scrunched down in her seat, head back, knees bent and feet resting on the dashboard in their battered boots, tapping along to the beat. Martin was smoking and quiet, focused on driving through the meandering country roads. His usual pace was “high-speed pursuit”, unless they were in a pretty area like this. A smile curved the edges of his mouth any time he looked over at her wiggling feet.

The front passenger seat was understood to be hers, not only because she enjoyed looking out the window (which was true), but because Martin liked it that way too. He never had to say anything about it. It was just known, and the boys made it happen.

The countryside was opening up. She felt her eyes half-close as she watched the trees blow by, deeply comfortable.

“Look! Deer!” Amanda sat up with a gasp of excitement. There was a huge buck grazing in the field they were passing, right at the edge of a treeline. His antlers were a massive spiked crown. Two females grazed nearby, and there were more tucked away in the trees. She pointed at the buck with one hand and grabbed Martin’s wrist with the other, somehow desperate that he not miss the sight.

She needn’t have worried about getting his attention. Martin slowed and leaned over the steering wheel, looking over his glasses at the herd. He moved his wrist in an easy motion to catch her hand and tangle his fingers with hers.

Amanda suddenly felt less aware of anything but her own hand and the rough warmth of the one against it. 

“I mean, deer are deer, but I’ve never seen such a huge one,” she muttered, a little embarrassed by her own excitement.

“It’s a fine one, all right,” Martin agreed. He squeezed her hand and let it go.

Not for the first time, she imagined leaning over and kissing him. It hit her so hard that she scrambled to suppress the feeling before Martin could smell it on her. Not that she really knew how specific his extrasensory perception was, but it couldn’t hurt to be careful. She grabbed a package of gum from the glove compartment, unwrapped a piece and shoved it into her mouth in one hasty motion. Martin took the cigarette out of his mouth and let the breeze carry the smoke outside.

Sometimes she worried that she was imagining things, reading into his actions to see what she wanted to see. It felt real, the way he singled her out, always chose to sit by her and sleep by her. She felt loved by all of the Rowdies, all of them were her true friends… but Martin was somehow more. His gaze always met hers for a beat longer than the others. Their hands touched longer than needed when he helped her up or down. When she talked to him she felt understood, like he was bending his whole being towards her to listen. Warmth lingered in her fingers. She brought them up to tap against her lips without thinking.

The boys encouraged it, too. Whether consciously or not, they always let Amanda and Martin fall into place together. Martin was the lead wolf in their little pack, and Drummer was their Boss - whatever that meant. Their guiding light, they told her. Where she led they all followed.

Amanda blew a blue raspberry bubble and cracked it, feeling her worries melt away. Even if she couldn’t be sure of Martin’s feelings, she knew her own. At the end of the day it didn’t matter if he wanted her the same way she wanted him. Life with the Rowdies was already perfect. Somehow this untethered, endless road trip made her feel the safest she had in years. Martin would never let her get hurt. For someone like Amanda, who had been abandoned by friends and betrayed by blood, his loyalty seemed supernatural. 

“Almost there,” Martin rumbled in his deep sing-song Southern voice. There hadn’t been a single house in the last few miles.

The sleepier Rowdies perked up when they reached the campground. They had the place all to themselves. There was a flurry of setting up, and soon the beginnings of a bonfire crackled to life. True night was falling, and Amanda started passing out beers and sandwich components. They had cold ciders, too - a special treat from the liquor store after Gripps found a twenty dollar bill blowing down the street. The universe really did provide.

They all ate like wild things. The Rowdies didn't have to eat human food, but they could just for fun, like the way they could drink alcohol. It helped them blend in, made them feel connected to her, and also helped her finish a loaf of bread before it went stale. She tried not to look too hard at Vogel’s sandwich, something told her he’d put marshmallows in it again. When the last of her crust disappeared, she remembered something.

“Check this out, guys,” Amanda swung her backpack in front of her and unzipped it, grabbing the package of sparklers. She had picked them up at a run-down grocery store earlier while the boys rumbled out back. The fight had started with some ill-chosen insults flung their way in the street of a backwater town and ended with Cross pulling the lid off of a dumpster and using it to slam a guy off his feet. That was about the time Amanda had strolled out of the store.

“You all done, Darlin’?” Martin had called to her, lowering his bat.

“Yup!” Amanda barely spared a glance at the moaning skinheads in various stages of surrender.

“We stomped 'em, Boss!” Vogel cried, giddy. They all piled in and the van rolled out with screeching tires.

Back in the present, the boys’ reaction to amateur firework supplies was instantaneous. They whooped and howled and made an untidy line to take as many each as Amanda would dole out. Martin stalked around behind her and reached over her shoulder to fish one out of the box.

Then they were laughing and running in circles around the fire pit, the sparklers fizzing in their hands. Vogel was shrieking and windmilling his arms to make wheels of light. Gripps was tracing complex patterns in the air. Cross was trying to burn as many as he could at once and hold them like a bouquet. Martin crouched by the fire watching his sparkler burn. The reflection glittered in his glasses. 

Amanda's sides ached from laughter. She twirled her own sparkler and felt a thrill of happiness. Perfect and complete.  
The Rowdies must have sensed it. They were all smiling at her. She grinned back.

They drank all of the cider and blasted the van’s speakers until the fire burned low and the stars crowded the sky. It was cooling down so much that Amanda's jacket wasn't enough to keep her warm. She changed in the van into her Mexican Funeral shirt (still the most comfortable thing she owned) and wrapped herself in the Navajo wool blanket that the Rowdies didn't use until she came around. They never really got cold, and when they were out in the woods they all slept in their regular clothes. Most of the time they didn't even use pillows or sleeping bags. Amanda had a little futon that they dragged out for her by the fire, but the boys were just as happy to dogpile up or sleep wherever they fell.

She took her ponytail down and combed out her hair. Martin sat with her on the futon’s edge. Cross and Gripps chatted quietly. Vogel was stretched out full-length on the grass, a little drunk. Amanda might have been a bit tipsy herself, if she was honest.

“Sleepy, Drummer girl?” Martin asked. He leaned back on his elbows and looked at her. Amused as always. 

“Totally.” Amanda laughed at herself and dropped onto her back beside him. The stars tilted and reoriented above her. She could still taste the fizz of fermented apple. After a moment Martin swung his legs over and was laying beside her. His face was near hers, watchful and relaxed. She noted that his glasses were off. _Even more handsome_ , her buzzy mind supplied. 

“Goodnight Martin.”

“'Night, Drummer.”

Curled up against Martin with cider on her tongue and stars shining on her face, feeling his breath moving in and out against her hair, and sensing the protective circle of Rowdies around her little futon, Amanda fell into dreams. Yeah, life was perfect already.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, life on the road isn't all danger and excitement. Happy Amanda is what we all like to see.


End file.
